


The Art Of Letting Go

by orphan_account



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentioned Character Death, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7719745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes moving on isn't easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bury All Your Secrets In My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, this is an MCU/DCCU crossover. But that was already made pretty obvious. I think it's probably pre-BVS, and definitely post-WS.  
> Secondly, I used English alphabet versions of the Russian lines in this, so non-Russian-speaking users could read it. But if the translations are fucked up or incorrect, it's Google Translate's fault. But please do tell me if that's the case and give me the correct versions so I can fix that.

Brock trailed his lips over Anatoli’s neck, finding the spot where his tattoo lay and biting down on it roughly. The other man was pliant and perfect beneath him, a mirror image of Jack so much that it almost hurt Brock to look upon him. His hips drove fast into Anatoli’s eager body, drawing a sharp moan from him.

“Da! Trakhni menya sil'neye!” he panted, and Brock didn’t need to be told twice to slam mercilessly into him, the bed creaking beneath them. Sensitive inner muscles fluttered around his cock, and a name slipped past his lips- a name that shouldn’t have escaped from the depths of his lungs, the name of a dead man.

Anatoli went still, tensing noticeably, though his breathing remained shallow. The only sounds leaving him were quiet grunts when Brock would press against his sweet spot. “You are thinking about him, aren’t you?” Anatoli drawled in his Russian accent, pushing a hand against Brock’s chest to make him cease his movements. But Brock didn’t know how to respond. He knew he was transparent, clinging desperately to Anatoli only because he shared his lover’s face.

“I knew it. It is him you want, not me,” Anatoli growled, shoving Brock away and moving to sit up on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, it’s true,” Brock sighed in reply, scooting close to rest a hand on Anatoli’s shoulder, only to have it shrugged away, “But we’re going to have to look past that if we want to make this work.”

Anatoli laughed bitterly, the sound wounded, “We are both fools.”

“Yeah,” Brock murmured quietly, “Yeah, we are.”


	2. Leave Me With My Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They continue, but it is hard.

Everything hurt. Inside and out. 

Brock looked upon his reflection in the mirror, eyes scanning over his body. The burn scars were scattered, some on his legs, some on his chest. But his face and arms- they took the brunt of the scorching rubble that had once pinned him down in a crumbling building. And though he was no longer there, he still felt trapped. 

His gaze traveled down to his hands, which he held up to examine further. They were covered in scarred flesh, tainted by fire and concrete. His hands fell to his sides and he looked once more upon his reflection, his face marred and twisted into something he could no longer recognize. 

Maybe Jack could have looked past it, maybe Anatoli could too. But Brock knew how the world saw him now, and it was not in a kind way. They knew who he was, and what he’d done. He wore it heavy on his skin, forever. 

His face contorted just before he took a fist to the mirror’s surface and shattered it, shards slicing his hand and blood welling up in thin lines. He breathed heavily. 

It didn’t matter that Anatoli wanted him. For all he looked like him, he was not Jack. Jack was dead. And Brock was alone. 

Someday, he’d find the people who brought the Triskelion crashing down, the people who brought his hopes and dreams to ruin, the people who took away everything he had. He’d find them. He’d kill them. Someday. 

Anatoli stepped into the bathroom, dusky green eyes wandering to where broken glass lay scattered on the countertop. His gaze was a knowing one, for he recognized the anger buried deep in Brock’s heart. It was in his own, a flame that would not go out. The embers got caught in their eyes and revealed too much, burning holes that turned into empty spaces where emotions could bleed out in the form of angry tears and biting words. 

They were both silent, Brock’s head down as he stared hard into the sink, as though he expected an answer to bubble up from the drain. 

“Rumlow, w-“ 

“Don’t,” he cut in quickly, “Don’t say anything.. You know I hate it when you talk..” 

It stung, but Anatoli knew it already. Brock hated to hear his voice, to hear the sound that was so much like the one that used to spill past Jack’s lips in apologies, threats, pleas, and sweet nothings. The accent was all wrong, drawling in a way that grated on Brock’s ears and reminded him that no, this was not Jack. 

And his body. It was almost identical. But the tattoos told a different story than Jack’s. And the lack of a notable scar on Anatoli’s jaw was almost so painful to Brock that he wanted to take a knife to that untouched face and cut the scar into it where it belonged. But he did no such thing. Instead, he yearned, and hid all his secrets and memories at the bottom of his lungs, inhalations of smoke and ash. 

“Why are you here?” Brock questioned after a moment, the words having multiple meanings. 

But Anatoli did not have an answer, one way or another. Instead, he raised a question of his own. 

“How long do you really think we can keep doing this?” 

“I really don’t know.” 

Anatoli narrowed his eyes at that. “ _You_ were the one who said we could make this work,” he growled. 

“I know what I said!” Brock snapped in reply, looking back over at Anatoli, “I said _if we wanted to make this work_. Not that we _could_.” 

“So what are you going to do then? Just stand around moping over your precious Jack?” 

“Maybe.” 

Anatoli sighed heavily, before turning and leaving the bathroom. 

Brock stared after him, but not did move to stop him or follow him. 

X 

_Brock lay beside Jack on the bed, the two of them smiling warmly at each other._

_“Really?” Jack inquired softly, “Forever?”_

_Brock nodded, “And ever.”_


	3. The Air Around Me Still Feels Like A Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It never gets easier.

Brock awoke with a start, gasping out into the cool night air. The world came back into view for him, slowly, like static clearing on a television screen. His vision swelled in the darkness, drinking in the dim hotel room. Warm sweat was cooling on skin chilled by the wind blowing in through an ajar window. Another night. Another nightmare. 

It varied. Sometimes, he was trapped under burning rubble again, conscious this time as he choked on smoke and cried for help. Other times, he was in the crumbling remains of the building, debris falling around him as he stared at Jack’s dead body crushed beneath chunks of concrete. Blood pooled around him and slowly spread to Brock’s boots. He fell to his knees in it and screamed. 

Even though he woke up, he was still haunted by the false memory of empty green hues staring blankly up at him, a familiar face paled by blood loss. It hurt. So much. 

Breathing shallowly and shakily, he tried to compose himself, to calm down and remind himself that he was in a different hell than the one that terrorized his dreams. He looked over, and, for the most fleeting of bittersweet moments, Anatoli looked just like Jack. Shadows obscured the features that were different, his unscarred cheek hidden against the pillow and tattoos covered under blankets and pillows. 

Brock nearly forgot he was trying to breathe properly again, staring down at his lover’s doppelganger with a mixture of pain and love. But the pain and love was for Jack- not Anatoli. 

Anatoli turned and shifted his arms up around his head, revealing tattoos and shattering the brief illusion. 

Brock turned away.


	4. Love Is Just A Camouflage For What Resembles Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are fighting a losing battle.

Anatoli had always thought of himself as cold, chilly, icy even. The endless winter of his heart rivaled even the coldest of winters in his home country. His heart had been petrified and frozen over by decades of hardship, bearing down on his bones until he was no more than cruelty and greed. He was motivated by two things: money, and power. With his lack of a conscience, it was easy to climb the ladder into becoming one of the worst criminals around. 

He had known love- or something akin to it- only a small handful of times in his life. But it always disappeared. Always. 

He met Brock on the job, working for the same employer. The way Brock looked at him, even when they first met, churned something deep in his gut, fluttered something trapped in his chest. Brock looked at him with fondness, yearning, and sorrow. Brock looked at him like he loved him- yet hated him at the same time. No one had ever looked at him like that. It sent chills up his spine that somehow made him feel warmer. 

He hated it, wanted to gouge Brock’s eyes out and make him stop looking at him like that. And yet, he soon found himself in bed with Brock, the both of them intoxicated by expensive alcohol. It’d been a long time since Anatoli had let himself be dominated by another man, but somehow, Brock made it feel so good, so right. Brock touched him, and his body lit up like he was on fire. 

But the feeling only lasted as long as they were touching, melting, burning, sweating as they danced in hotel bed after hotel bed. When it all was said and done, Brock couldn’t stand to look at him, to hear him speak, to be near him. It took consistent prying to get Brock to talk at all. Somehow, Anatoli wasn’t surprised to discover he was little more than a replacement, something to fill an empty space and warm a cold bed. How could anyone ever truly want someone like him? 

Still, he kept coming back. It was the same thing every time. It was the same struggle, and they never parted ways on good terms. Tonight, they wore bruises, scratches, and bites. They were rougher when they were angry. And it left them exhausted down to their very bones. 

Anatoli slept deeply, and dreamed of nothing. 

There was nothing for him here.


	5. Run Away Before I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this really how it ends?

Fate had proven to them both time and time again that she was cruel. But now, it was even more apparent to Anatoli than it ever had been. 

He laid in that hospital bed, heavily drugged and staring up at the blank white ceiling, a bandaged wrist cuffed to the bed. His whole body was bandaged up, and he realized slowly that this must have been how Brock had felt. 

Speaking of which, Brock made a surprise appearance then, dressed down in casual clothes that covered everything but his face (the one thing he, in all honesty, wished he could cover without looking suspicious and drawing attention to himself). He sat down in the chair beside Anatoli’s bed and stared at him. Anatoli stared back. 

They were silent for several long moments. 

Then Anatoli was the first to crack, laughter slowly bubbling up from his lungs until he was practically sobbing hysterically, tears welling up in his eyes. Brock laughed right along with him. But for them, it was not playful or amused. It was bitter and unstable. The whole situation was so twisted that the only reaction for them was to laugh. 

They had both burned their bridges. Now they had both burned their bodies. 

And Anatoli knew- knew deep in what was left of him- that once Brock walked out that door, he would never come back. This was it. Everything Brock had wanted of him was gone. 

They were pulled apart, and left to suffer alone.


	6. (Alternate Ending)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate happier ending that some of you seemed to want. Not the canon ending, but something sweeter to make up for the heartache.  
> Listened to this while writing it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhv788BMisk

Anatoli awoke to movement, a slow and steady sort of thing, like someone was pushing him. He opened his eyes groggily to passing lights on the pristine white ceiling overhead, and realized that someone was moving him on a gurney. 

He tilted his head back, and there was Brock, soon pushing him out a back door. Their eyes met for a moment, the look in them both lost and knowing all at once. 

“Where are you taking me?” Anatoli croaked hoarsely after a moment. 

“Away,” Brock answered, “With me.” 

“Why?” Anatoli questioned, trying to furrow his brow, but finding that it hurt too much. 

“Because,” Brock began quietly, “I want to make this work. I really do.” 

The tiniest smile tugged at Anatoli’s lips. 

X 

Anatoli leaned back against his seat in the car, drugged up and soundly asleep. 

Brock stood at the edge of the bridge, looking over the railing down into the moonlight that made the water shimmer beautifully. 

He reached out, a memory he clung to cupped in his hand, and turned it. The dog tags slipped easily, and fell into river below, to be washed away with the gentle current. 

When he climbed back into the driver’s seat of the car, he looked over at Anatoli, and his eyes turned soft. 

He started the car up again, and they rode away into the night. Nothing followed them. They left everything behind.


End file.
